


it's been a long, long, time

by ronsparkyspeirs



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 09:17:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2502557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronsparkyspeirs/pseuds/ronsparkyspeirs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>not even a couple of wars could keep these two apart. a set of au drabbles spanning the end of world war i all the way through afghanistan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's been a long, long, time

**Author's Note:**

> inspirations for each came from: boardwalk empire, the hbo war series, and hamburger hill. The wars go in order, WWI, WWII, Vietnam, and Afghanistan.

He’s been back home for almost eight years when his brother calls for him. Says he’s in Chicago and to get his ass over there as soon as possible, got a nice job lined up for him and everything. Turns out the job is at a speakeasy owned by some big shot named Capone or something; all Daryl knows is that it pays well and there’s always free booze. Merle tells him all he has to do is look scary and intimidating, he’s gonna be working security for the house singer, don’t even need a gun or nothing. 

She’s billed as the “Sweetest Georgia Peach Above the Mason Dixie Line,” her name’s Beth Greene and she’s nineteen years old; and consequently the prettiest thing Daryl’s ever seen in his life. 

She’s wearing a white, shiny dress the first time he sees her. Blonde hair and dark red lipstick, singing like an angel; she winks at him as he helps her offstage and invites him into her dressing room. 

“Your brother tells me you fought in the war,” she says, fixing her hair in the mirror. 

He nods because what the hell does she know about the war anyways, must have been a child when he was knee deep in mud and blood and the cold seeping into his bones. 

“It must have been very hard for you,” she tells him, and something in her voice sounds so sincere that it makes him meet her eyes, looking at her through the mirror’s reflection makes it seem like a dream almost. 

“Sometimes I think I died back in those trenches,” he says softly, and he doesn't know why he’s telling that to this girl he just met, but there it is, comes out all on his own. 

“But you didn't, you’re here,” she responds just as softly, “with me,” she says, grinning from ear to ear. 

&

“The tendon in your arm was practically destroyed, you’re going to need some time to heal,” the doctor tells him, “you’re lucky the shell didn't hit very close.” 

Daryl scoffs, “Right,” because there he is, laying on some hospital bed in the middle of the Pacific ocean, his arm bandaged like a mummy and a gauze wrapped tightly around his head; fragments of the shell hit him in the temple, near his eye and so now he’s walking around looking like a damn pirate. 

Daryl wants to go back to his unit, give his thanks to Grimes for pulling him out of the cross fire in time. He doesn't like laying in bed all day while his outfit is still out there on that godforsaken island. The only good thing about being here is the nurse that he got assigned to. 

She comes by every couple of hours, checking on him, checking that his bandages are all clean. Sometimes she even reads to him if he asks nicely, her name is Beth and hearing her laugh makes Daryl’s mouth go dry and makes his stomach flip like he’s on a roller coaster. 

She's not wearing her usual smile when she comes by doing her rounds and Daryl wonders what kind of asshole would make a girl like her sad. He's about to ask when she sits next to his bed, but she pulls out a familiar looking envelope and something inside Daryl goes cold. 

"This came for you," she says softly, and Daryl grits his teeth because he doesn't like it when people look at him the way she is. All soft eyes and serious mouths. 

"It's dated June eighth." 

His vision suddenly turns blurry and he angrily wipes at his face. It's almost October and he's barely getting the goddamned telegram, sometimes he really hates the army. 

"I can read it, if you want," Beth tells him. 

He shakes his head, "Nah, it's my brother." 

She places the telegram on a bedside table and looks him in the eye, "I lost a brother in Africa."

"M' sorry," he says quietly, he realizes then it wasn't with pity that she was looking at him with but sympathy. 

Beth reaches for his hand and Daryl only flinches a little when her small fingers wrap around his calloused hand. 

&

The weather reminds him of Georgia, of home, of her. Only difference is the rain, he doesn't think he's ever seen so much rain in his entire life. And no matter what he does, he can never stay dry; always in his boots, his face, running down the back of his neck. It's hell on earth some of the guys say, Northern boys who were used to snow and sleet. 

"It ain't so bad," he says, and the guys look at him like he's grown a second head but Daryl shrugs and doesn't say anything else. 

Ain't so bad compared to what he's been through. Growing up with an alcoholic daddy that beat him on the regular and a neglectful mama who didn't know up from down on her good days. At least here he always knows where his next meal's coming from and sure there's some crazy out there in the jungle just waiting to kill him but it ain't so bad. 

Not when he has her waiting for him back home. 

Beth Greene, preacher's daughter, blonde and kind and sweet and everything Daryl never thought he'd have. She writes him almost daily and sends tapes every week, she talks to him about her day, about the gossiping ladies at the church; makes him smile when she complains about her chores at the farm. She sings to him too, Bob Dylan and Janis Joplin, hums church hymns when she misses him the most. All the tapes she's sent are stacked neatly in his rucksack, his most prized possession out here in the jungle. 

Sometimes, when the sound of gunfire and mortars is too much he thinks about her, when the rain won't let up and he thinks he might drown in the downpour he thinks of her sweet voice, and in the middle of the night when he can't sleep all he has to do is imagine her smile and he thinks to himself:

It ain't so bad. 

&

He thinks he was made for this, for the smell of burning flesh and hot rounds being emitted from his M16. The desert heat makes him wish for wet, humid, summers but he doesn't like to think too much of that. He’s older than most of the guys there, they look up to him and it makes him uncomfortable; he ain't any better than they are, just used to it. Glenn, a Korean kid, calls him a bad ass when a rocket is launched near their vicinity and Daryl hardly even blinks. 

He stays mostly to himself, following orders from higher up and issuing his own when it’s needed. You help people, but you’re still sort of surly, another kid told him the other day, he doesn't say anything in response. The guys get together and talk about their wives, their girlfriends, and they all speculate on Daryl and what kind of woman would be attracted to his monosyllabic, sulky demeanor. 

One night outside of Kabul the guys won’t let up, they bother him with questions and persistence. 

“Aw, come on skipper, just tell us if you have a girl or not,” Glenn whines, “we’re all dying to know.” 

And if it’d been anybody else, Daryl would have lied and said no, but him and Glenn have been through some shit together so he simply says, “Yeah.” 

Glenn looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate and Daryl lets out a long sigh, “Her name’s Beth.” 

Glenn grins so hard Daryl thinks his face might split in two, “Beth,” Glenn repeats, “you have a picture of her?” 

And Daryl glares because he realizes that Glenn thinks he’s lying, making up a fake girlfriend just so they’ll leave him alone. He digs through his cammies until he finds the picture he always carries of Beth around, pulling it out he shoves it at Glenn and waits. He doesn't know what Glenn will say about the much younger girlfriend he has, comments about the age gap never really bothered him but maybe coming from someone he considers a friend will make a difference. 

Glenn stays silent for a long minute, just staring at the picture; Beth wearing one of his flannel shirts and a pair of jeans, hair in a braid and his crossbow over her shoulder, Glenn turns the picture over and sees ‘love, Beth’ scrawled in her neat handwriting. 

“She’s beautiful,” Glenn tells him, and Daryl murmurs his agreement. He stuffs the picture back in his pocket when he sees the rest of the guys inching their way towards him, trying to get a peek. He turns around and starts walking to his humvee when he hears Glenn yell behind him. 

“Does she have a sister?”


End file.
